The Stars Will Be Watching Us
by r4ven3
Summary: This is a one shot I wrote for the holiday season, specifically Christmas. Supposing that a miracle had occurred, and both Ruth and Harry had made it to Christmas 2018, then this is a scenario which *may* have occurred, had the stars shone kindly on them both.


_**A/N: The title of this fic is from "A Moment Of Happiness", a poem by Rumi.**_

 _ **I also ask you the reader to ignore some of the improbabilities presented by this story, but I wanted this to take place in present day, and so this is what my muse concocted.**_

* * *

London – Friday December 21st 2018:

It is only when she spies a child with blond hair and deeply magnetic blue eyes that Ruth briefly regrets not having had children. Across the other side of the café a little girl sits wriggling in her chair, swinging her head from side to side in time with some silent song playing in her head while her mother's attention is focused on her mobile phone, rather than on her child. Ruth is not judging, only noting, her state of childlessness rendering her ineligible to stand in judgement of this woman.

Ruth stirs her coffee, an unnecessary action, given only a few sips remain in her cup. Had she not been incensed by Harry's news that he had fathered a son with Elena Gavrik, had she in that moment not felt insulted and rejected by him, had she not hurried from his office before they'd had a chance to discuss his shocking news, had she not – without thinking it through – booked a ticket on the Eurostar for two days hence, then maybe she wouldn't be sitting in this coffee shop alone, envying a woman with a beautiful daughter, a daughter who resembles a child she and Harry might have had, had she been braver, and less reactive. Had she responded differently to his news, which he was under no obligation to share with her, then the woman sitting at that table might have been her, and the child sitting across from her may have been the result of the union between her and Harry.

Then, in quick succession, three things happen. Ruth finishes her coffee, the little girl asks loudly, _Can we go now?_ , after which the mother looks up from her phone to offer her daughter a brief glance of disapproval, quickly followed by a forced smile. Ruth thinks it's time she left, before she is tempted to intervene on the child's behalf.

Outside on the pavement the air is chilled although calm, the cloud cover low and threatening, the tops of the buildings around her appearing to touch the sky. It is December in London, so the knife-like chill of winter should not surprise her. It could rain at any moment, and she'd left her mack in her room at the B&B. She pulls up the collar of her woollen coat, turning towards her B&B only a few blocks away. If she hurries she'll hopefully avoid a drenching.

Days later Ruth will still be shaking her head in disbelief at the series of events which are about to unfold. She's heard of such events – connections made or lost, coincidences of the magnitude that no amount of rationalising can explain. What happens next, while not being noticed by many, will present Ruth with the opportunity to turn her life around, and yet given the time of year, and the population of London, the odds of it happening are probably one in several million.

Ruth is hurrying towards the intersection, head down, hand grasping the lapels of her coat, protecting her face and neck from the cold, when she glances up, gauging how many steps it will take her to reach the pedestrian crossing. She is staring at the red light across the street when her eyes are drawn to a face in the crowd, a pair of eyes focused only on her. She drops her gaze to meet those eyes, and there, standing on the kerb opposite waiting for the light to change, his gaze still holding hers, is Harry.

The light changes to green, and cars burst across the intersection, while she is jostled by the people around her as she stays put, unable to move. Her head says walk, while her body just isn't comprehending. Across the street Harry also stands, his feet anchored to the pavement. Then, just as the flashing green light is about to turn red, he acts … foolishly, even for him. Ruth looks on helplessly as he stumbles onto the street, half walking, half jogging towards her. By the time he reaches her side of the street the light has again turned red, and his passage to her side is accompanied by a symphony of car horns, all playing in the key of pique, their dissonance jarring her ears. Ruth hasn't moved. She can't. She is experiencing temporary paralysis.

Soon he stands beside her, looking down at her, his breath forming small clouds in the air. He reaches out with one hand, but then lets it drop to his side. "Ruth," he says, and she feels tears building, and she's not sure why. "Are you free to go somewhere we can talk?" he suggests, and this time he holds his hand close to her back as he guides her away from the intersection. Ruth is almost certain she can feel the warmth of his gloved fingers from where they hover, so close to her back. Gazing up into his eyes she nods.

"Where are we going?" she asks, once they are walking briskly along a side street, their shoulders close but not touching.

"You'll see," he replies, his hand now lightly touching her back as he turns them into a narrow alleyway, where the glow from the interior of a small pub beckons. Ruth swears Harry knows every pub in London. Once inside the pub, he leads her to a table against the wall, leaning close to her as she sits.

"I think we could both do with a whiskey," he growls.

Ruth has no objection. She nods. At this moment she could demolish a whole bottle of the stuff.

* * *

"I seem to remember whiskey not being your drink," Harry says when he returns with their drinks.

"Not until now," Ruth says, glancing up at him gratefully, taking a sip from her glass before he even has a chance to sit down. The whiskey warms her from the inside out.

Harry has removed his coat and gloves, laying them over a spare chair. Ruth had removed hers while he'd stood at the bar, waiting for their drinks.

"I hope I'm not keeping you," he says quietly, and Ruth allows his voice to surround her with its rich, comforting warmth, while she watches his fingers as he slides them up and down the sides of his glass.

"I was just on my way back to my B&B," she says, offering him the briefest of glances.

"B&B?"

"I'm living there until I find somewhere more permanent."

This has him sitting up straight. "Permanent? You're staying?"

"I have a job teaching four days a week at a girls' school near here. It's just until the end of the academic year."

Harry is watching her, waiting for her to again give him eye contact. When she does, he leans forward. " _Why_?" is all he says, but they both understand his deeper meaning.

Ruth shakes her head, again looking down at her drink. "I no longer remember," she says. "I was only thinking … while I was having coffee in the high street .. that I acted on impulse. I had no right to that level of … outrage."

"I only wanted to keep you informed," Harry replies, his voice level and gentle, his eyes still on her.

"I know that now."

"Are you hungry?"

Again Ruth shakes her head. They're skirting around what it is they both wish to say. It will be up to her to speak her truth to him, to open doors which for seven years have been firmly locked and bolted. She swallows. "I travelled, Harry. I'd always wanted to travel, so I took the opportunity ... I went to the continent, and I spent much of the intervening years wandering from country to country, and from job to job."

"You could have let me know you were alright. I was worried ..."

"I'm sorry," she says, and she means it. "I should have contacted you, but by the time I was ready to do that, so much time had already passed, and I ..."

Harry sits back in his chair and sighs. "Another?" he asks, lifting his empty glass.

"I'll sit on this one."

Ruth watches Harry's back as he walks towards the bar. He is little changed – still broad-shouldered, able to command a room. Perhaps he's thinner, and there are deeper lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth. He is still an attractive man, still smartly dressed, and she is surprised to find that familiar stirring in her body when he is close. He is still the most engaging man she has ever known.

"And how are things at Section D?" Ruth asks, the moment he sits down with a fresh drink.

This time it is Harry who shakes his head. "I no longer know, Ruth. I retired just over four years ago. Tell me about your time away."

So she does. She tells him about her month in Amsterdam, followed by a year wandering through France, and then two and a half years in Italy. She'd even spent just over eighteen months in Hong Kong, from where she'd visited mainland China. She leaves out the small detail of her many short-term affairs with unavailable men, men who belonged with other women. She had also not been available to them, a part of her heart having been left in London.

"Not the US?" Harry asks.

"I visited a few times, but not to work." She omits telling him of her few weeks in Cyprus on her way home to England. She'd hoped to see Nico, only to be told he was at university in Nicosia, and his family had not wanted him to be disturbed. Ruth knew she'd been brushed off, so she accepted that were she to ever again see Nico, it would have to be his idea. "Tell me about your life now," she says, chiefly to deflect attention from herself.

Harry's face creases in a rare smile, and for a moment Ruth is afraid he is about to tell her he has married, or has found the love of his life. But no.

"I have also travelled a little these past four years. I'd regularly visit my daughter in the Middle East, although I'm relieved she's now back in the UK. My son and his girlfriend live in California. She's from there." He pauses to sip his drink. "I'm about to become a grandfather."

"Congratulations!"

Harry twists his mouth to one side. "Not that I had anything to do with it. Catherine and Angus are expecting twins early in April – a boy and a girl. They're getting married on New Year's Day."

"In time for the birth?"

"Thankfully," Harry replies. "The thing is, Catherine knew Angus in primary school. They met again only eighteen months ago. It's all been a bit sudden, and … unexpected. Her mother is over the moon. I'm just relieved they're planning to remain in the UK."

Ruth is aware that they are still skirting around the important topics, the things they each want to say to the other. While their conversation has flowed rather easily, they've barely touched on the personal.

"Harry ..." Ruth begins, having little idea what she'll say next. He lifts his eyes to hers, and in them she reads fear. What could she possibly say to make Harry afraid?

"It's alright, Ruth, you don't have to explain to me. I -"

"It's not about that. What's done is done, and can't be undone. We both made mistakes, but that's in the past."

"Sasha isn't my son." The words fall from his mouth as if one word.

"You _lied_ to me? Why would you -?"

"No, Ruth. Elena lied to me. For thirty years she let me believe he was my son, when all along she knew the truth."

"I hope she feels bad about that."

"Elena is dead."

"Dead?"

"Killed by her husband. It's a long story."

Isn't it always? "I … that's ..." Ruth stammers, not knowing how to politely reply to that. There is a part of her is relieved the woman is dead, although she'd rather not openly admit it. "I should return to my B&B," she says at last, not knowing what else to say. Clearly Harry is happy to catch up, but he is unlikely to want anything more. After all, she'd left him and London without warning, and no forwarding address. She'd not even said goodbye.

Harry checks his watch, then emits a sound from deep in his throat, one of his growls. "I suppose I should go also. I'm due to meet my daughter at four."

"Then I mustn't keep you," Ruth says, standing so suddenly that Harry glances across the table at her in surprise.

He stands just as quickly. "I'll walk you to your B&B."

"You don't have to."

He quickly steps in front of her, preventing her escape. "It will be my privilege." His voice is so deep, with a resonance that hums in time with her heartbeat, her very being, that she is unable to say no. She _wants_ to spend more time with him, and if that means she has to let him walk her home, then she will do it.

* * *

The pavement in the lane is newly wet, with puddles which had not been there when they'd arrived. Harry, hand at her back, negotiates the puddles for both of them. Ruth guides him to her B&B through the fast fading light, and in no time they are there.

"I'll see you inside," Harry says.

Ruth is about to object, to say she's perfectly capable of climbing the steps on her own, opening the front door, and negotiating her way to her room on the second floor. But she doesn't. She has missed Harry's chivalry as much as she has missed Harry. She glances up at him and nods.

They are inside the vast hallway, where a hall stand and matching wooden bench seats along each wall help fill the space. Ruth turns to him then.

"It's been lovely seeing you," she says, smiling up at him. Harry's expression, on the other hand, gives nothing away.

"And you," he says. "We need to do a proper catch up."

"We do."

"I should go," he says, clearly a little uncomfortable. "Goodbye, Ruth."

"Goodbye, Harry."

And he quickly leaves, and they hadn't even exchanged phone numbers. Ruth contemplates hurrying after him, but in her hesitation, too much time passes. She has her foot on the first stair when the doorbell rings. She hopes it's Harry, so she turns to hurry across the hall to the door.

It is him. "We forgot to -" she begins.

"- exchange phone numbers," he finishes for her.

"Come in. It's cold out there."

They stand together just inside the closed door, both with their phones open.

"I _will_ call you, Ruth, I promise."

"I know you will. We have so much ..."

"We have so much more to talk about," he finishes for her, "and more," he adds obliquely.

Then he is again gone, swallowed by the gloom, leaving a vast emptiness in the hall which even the garishly mocking Christmas decorations cannot fill. Ruth sighs heavily, feeling suddenly hollow, abandoned. This time she is on the fourth step of the stairs when the doorbell rings. Surely it can't be Harry again. But it might be, so she descends the few stairs, again hurrying to the door to open it.

"Harry? Come in out of the cold," but he stands there, on the top step, his coat collar turned up.

"Would you like to spend Christmas Day with me, Ruth? That is, if you have nothing else on, which I imagine you have -"

Of all the things he might have said, she hadn't expected that. She doesn't hesitate; hesitation and over-thinking have not served her well in her life so far. At forty-eight years and counting, she cannot pass up this opportunity.

"Yes. I would love to spend Christmas Day with you." She is smiling, embarrassed to feel tears forming, so with the back of her hand she brushes them away.

Harry watches her, the hint of surprise in his eyes. Ruth reaches out to grab the sleeve of his coat, drawing him inside so that she can shut the door.

"And … the wedding," he adds quietly, leaning a little towards her.

"The wedding? Your daughter's wedding?"

"Yes. Will you come as my …?"

" _Date_?" Ruth closes her eyes, just for a moment. What made her utter the word, _date_? When she opens them he is frowning.

"Are you alright, Ruth?" he asks.

She nods. "Are you sure about that?" she asks.

"About the wedding?"

"I need to know you're not asking me out of pity."

They are standing in the front hallway of the B&B. Outside it is heavily overcast with the threat of rain, while inside the house it is toasty warm. "I could never pity you, Ruth. I -"

And he says no more. Ruth has reached up to kiss him, and he steps back in surprise, hitting his head on a corner of the hall stand. He rubs his head with his hand.

"Sorry," Ruth says, suddenly embarrassed, stepping back from him.

"Don't be. You took me by surprise, that's all." He quickly recovers, moving towards her.

"I thought we should make the most of this .. situation."

"I vote for that," he says quietly before leaning down to meet her lips in a carefully controlled kiss, his lips cold from the air outside. Reluctantly he ends the kiss, his face still close to hers. "You can't imagine how much I have missed you," he says, his voice low, and husky with emotion, "but I have to go. I'm meeting my daughter in .." he checks his watch, "almost ten minutes ago."

"You'd better hurry, then."

"But I'd rather be with you," he says, his voice almost inaudible, before he bends to kiss her again, resting his hands at her waist. This time it is a kiss of longing, a kiss filled with promise. Then he quickly leaves.

* * *

For some minutes Ruth stands watching the closed door, but he doesn't return. She trusts that her imagination hasn't concocted the last ten minutes. She hopes that it had happened just as she remembers it.

What Ruth doesn't yet know, is that after a quiet Christmas Day spent with Harry, she will accompany him to the kitchen to help tidy up after their evening meal. While in the kitchen they will fall together in a long toe-curling kiss, Harry will pull away, and he will gaze down at her with eyes filled with naked longing. "Stay the night," he will say, and she will agree to staying not only that night, but all the nights leading to Catherine's wedding.

What she can't possibly know is that by New Year's Day she and Harry will have agreed that she should move into his house with him, saving her the inconvenience of finding a flat for herself.

"It's the most logical solution," Harry will say, and Ruth will nod her assent, suspecting this may have been his plan all along.

She won't fuss, or prevaricate, or over-think the offer because by then she will know that it is the right thing for them to be doing. Perhaps it is written in the stars, or in some ancient Book Of Knowledge that they need to spend their lives together. Whatever it is which draws them to one another, Ruth no longer wishes to fight it.


End file.
